


glass roses, breaking

by strawberriez8800 (orphan_account)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Romance, The Great War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/strawberriez8800
Summary: When this is all over, we'll be nothing but dust.In which Thomas sees Philip at the territorial force hospital during the Great War, and he wants to make amends.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Duke of Crowborough
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In the midst of writing the latest chapter of my main Crowbarrow fic, I had an urge to write this. It might be a future longer fic I will explore, but for now, I needed to get this on paper (or screen, what have you). Title is from a very old Crowbarrow ficlet that I wrote but deleted.

He sees Philip at the territorial force hospital. 

The sight strikes Thomas like a whip.

And all at once the days of their season rain upon him. Oh, how sweet their times together had been -

Then he remembers. Letters of broken promises curling into themselves as flames licked at their edges. 

He’d been so, so angry then.

But now as he sees Philip on the bed, broken and bloody and _alive_ against all odds -

There’s no anger in Thomas.

War does have a way of distinguishing between things that matter, and the things that don’t, after all.

Thomas walks up to Philip’s bed and touches his forehead, the strip of bandage soaked red.

He wants to say something, anything -

But there’s no one around to listen.

Thomas sighs.

Perhaps it’s time to let bygones be bygones and he’ll make his amends when - _if_ \- he ever gets the chance to again.

And he hopes he does, _terribly._

Because there’s too much left to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this story kept gnawing at me while I was writing my other fic. So, here it is. I've scratched that itch and I can focus again. This is done. For good. I hope you like it! It's different to my usual writing style, but I found it quite fun.

For the next two weeks, Philip remains unconscious.

Thomas sits by him every day.

He reads to him. He writes. 

He folds the pages and tucks them under Philip’s pillow, written prayers for brighter days.

Thomas wonders if Philip will burn these, too, when he wakes up.

If he wakes up.

Frankly, Thomas would be fine with Philip burning all of his letters if it means getting him out of this godforsaken coma -

He smokes. And he waits. 

Although Thomas knows all too well that God doesn’t listen, not to _him_ , he prays anyway.

Philip deserves that much. Even if he did break his heart all those years ago.

One day, his prayers are answered.

Thomas walks in, performs his daily rounds by each patient, and Philip is awake.

And he is reading Thomas’s letters.

 _Christ,_ it’s been so long since Thomas has seen his smile and he _hates_ that it lights up his world even after all the hurt Philip has put him through.

Let bygones be bygones, Thomas reminds himself. 

“Welcome back,” Thomas says. 

They’re the first words he’s said to him since the night Philip had snuffed out the candle.

Philip only looks at him and smiles. It’s not like him to have nothing to say.

“How are you feeling?” Thomas asks, sitting beside him.

Philip puts the letter away. “I’ve had better days.” He averts his gaze and Thomas’s heart clenches. “How long was I out for?”

“Two weeks. You were in bad shape when you came in.”

“Such luck a man could have.”

“Indeed.”

There is a silence when neither of them knows what to say.

Philip breaks it first. “Why did you write these?” He gestures to Thomas’s writings. 

“I didn’t know if you’d ever see them again.”

“Would you have cared if I didn’t?”

Thomas stares at him, can’t _stop_ staring at him because he wants to sear his face in his mind - “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

Philip sighs. “We didn’t part on good terms.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thomas breathes. “Was it worth it?”

Philip looks at him with melancholy in his eyes that Thomas hates to see. “If I said yes, would you despise me?”

“No. I’d appreciate the honesty.”

“Yes, it was worth it.”

Thomas smiles to himself, or maybe he’s smiling to Philip. The lines blur. “Good to know I wasn’t tossed aside for nothing.”

There’s that silence again.

Thomas stands. “I’ll be back with supplies to change your wound dressing.” He grants Philip a stern look. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Why would I?” Philip whispers. “Where you are is where I want to be.”

And Thomas hates it, hates _him_ for saying things like that. Saying them like he means every word -

Thomas knows better than to believe him this time. He’s no longer the star-struck footman who’d been swept off his feet by a charming Duke.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

* * *

The sun shines bright in the blue sky. It’s so beautiful a day that for anyone who doesn’t know better, they might even call it peaceful.

They all know better, of course.

Thomas takes Philip to the garden by his wheelchair. They come to a stop before a fountain. 

That’s when he asks Thomas about his hand, although Thomas suspects Philip has noticed it well before this moment. 

“What happened?”

Thomas pulls out his glove, careful. He winces a little. When he shows his injury to Philip, the man frowns. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Thomas reassures, slips his glove back on.

He doesn’t tell him the wound is by design.

He can’t.

“Such a shame. You were once so perfect.”

Thomas knows he is teasing, but he bristles regardless. “Why would you care if I’m not?”

Philip glances away, then turns back to him. “You’re just as I remember.” He smiles a little sadly. “So quick to defend.”

Despite himself, Thomas relents. “I’d like to think I’ve changed.” He walks around the chair to stand next to Philip. “Haven’t we all?”

For the better or worse, only time will tell.

* * *

One evening, when Thomas performs a final check-up on Philip before turning in for the night, Philip kisses him.

Without hesitation Thomas returns his kiss, because there’s no reality where he can ever refuse him.

“This is foolish,” Thomas murmurs. 

He leans his forehead against Philip’s. Breathes him in. 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t care?”

“I know better than to listen to you now.” Thomas closes his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”

Philip lets out a quiet laugh. “You’ve changed, after all.” He strokes Thomas’s hair gently.

Thomas pulls away, looks at Philip through a haze of affection. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Philip doesn’t respond. 

For a few heartbeats they sit in silence before he speaks again. “After all of _this_ ,” Philip says, gesturing vaguely in the air. “Will you come to Crowborough? You could work at the House.”

Thomas’s breath catches in his chest. He doesn’t know if this is real. 

“I wasn’t planning on returning to service.”

Philip falls silent. He traces a finger along Thomas’s hand. “Would you consider it, at least?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in that.”

“Good.” Philip smiles. “That’s all I wanted.”

* * *

Two weeks after Philip wakes up, he is discharged by the doctor.

Although Thomas would never admit it aloud, nor to himself, he hates the thought of parting.

They’ve had their fair share of goodbyes for two people, after all.

Perhaps that’s one of Thomas’s many reasons that he wouldn’t let himself fall into this trap again. 

There’s always been an expiration to their days together, always an end in sight even as they try their hardest to delay it.

Such is their romance, it seems.

Two bloody masochists.

“I suppose this is goodbye,” Philip says. 

A farewell, once more. It’s becoming their mantra. 

Thomas doesn’t look at him. He can’t. Not if he wants to keep himself together. “Yes.”

“But not for too long, I hope?”

There it is, the longing in his voice.

“Maybe.” Thomas finally lets himself look at Philip. “I don’t know. Will it really work?”

Philip shrugs. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Thomas breathes in. Breathes out. “I’ll see, Philip.”

“All right. You know where I’ll be, Thomas.”

They share a parting kiss. This time, Thomas has an inkling it might not be their last.

There’s something to be said about that.


End file.
